Flux
by GlassBomb
Summary: Daisuke's had a crap day, and there's only one man who can improve it - Clair Leonelli. Very mild Clair/Daisuke if you squint through rose-tinted glasses.


**Author Note: Hey guys. :D This is my first Heat Guy fic, but I love this show and just felt the need for a bit of a character exploration. I strongly recommend listening to the two songs within this as you're reading - **_**Despertar**_** by Aisha Duo, and **_**Rosemary**_** by Gomez.**

**Let me know what you think! x**

Daisuke stepped into the underground jazz club, his ears immediately being met with the soothing tones of a xylophone and a violin in flawless harmony, and walked straight up to the bar.

"Three of whatever melts your mind the most," he requested dryly, and the barman rose an eyebrow, acquiescing all the same. Moments later, three shots of a pale blue liquid sat innocently in front of him, and he snorted derisively.

"Gin?" He asked disdainfully, and the thick-set barman leered.

"Want it or not?" He demanded. Rolling his eyes, Daisuke pulled out his wallet.

"It'll do," he replied quietly, slamming a note onto the bar. "Keep the change."

Greedily snatching up the money before his customer could change his mind, the barman moved onwards to serve a seedy-looking character in a deep grey overcoat.

"Animal," Daisuke murmured in exasperation, heading for a deserted table in the far corner of the club, one of the shots clutched expertly between his teeth.

He took his seat, melancholically sipping the Bombay Sapphire with a slight grimace; he was not a hard liquor drinker, and he certainly wasn't a gin drinker. The delivery, however, was pleasantly warm and deep, and his lips quirked bitterly upwards as the vague hope that drinking enough of these would make him forget how shit his life was floated serenely across his mind.

Attuning his ear to the sound, the young man realised he recognised the tune that was flowing gracefully around the room - _Despertar_ unless he was very much mistaken, a woeful melody that wrapped itself completely around one's soul and refused to diminish its hold until the last vestiges of rhythm had dissipated.

It was like a drug in its gentle pull, and he lost himself in a combination of violin strains and alcohol, weariness overtaking his form.

"Well well well… Daisuke Aurora."

Daisuke's eyes snapped open, and as he came face to face with Clair Leonelli, he sighed deeply.

"Can't a guy get drunk in peace?" He muttered in irritation, and the Vampire emitted a soft, high-pitched laugh after a sip of what seemed to be whiskey.

"By all means, don't let me disturb you," he commented wryly. "I shall, however, be occupying your table."

"Joy of joys," the blond retorted sarcastically.

Affronted, Clair leant closer to his new drinking partner.

"It's almost as if you don't enjoy my company," he observed acerbically, and Daisuke shot him a cool look.

"Whatever gave you that impression?"

The younger man harrumphed immaturely, falling silent for a moment to bask in the bar's ambience.

"I adore jazz," he murmured in appreciation several minutes later. "I'm more of a blues guy, but this is strangely magical."

"You are?" Daisuke asked, surprised.

"You seem shocked," Clair retorted with intrigue. "What did you expect Vita's Vampire to enjoy?"

"No idea," the detective confessed. "Just… not jazz."

"Stereotype."

Daisuke almost laughed.

"You piss me off, Leonelli."

Clair winked wryly.

"Glad to hear it," he stated quirkily, applauding in synchronisation with the rest of the bar's population as the song finished and Daisuke felt its caress vanish with an odd coldness. A vocalist walked on - a young man in a pinstripe jacket, jeans and a crimson tie, clearly influential by the way the applause dramatically increased at his presence - and introduced himself briefly as several instrumentalists set up behind him.

"Ah, the main event!" Clair trilled in an overly enthusiastic fashion, and Daisuke rose a cynical eyebrow.

"That good, is he?"

"Aurora, I pity you," he remarked obnoxiously. "You haven't heard soul until you've heard this, I promise you."

"'Soul'?" Daisuke queried indulgently, smirking. "I thought this was a jazz bar…"

"Oh, the way it creeps across your heart, Daisuke!" He murmured, completely ignoring the baiting. "Ethereal, deep, _beautiful_ - "

"Didn't know you had a heart."

Clair shot him a sour, acidic look.

"Then you should have known better, Aurora."

The introductory notes blazed out softly, and as Clair's face slackened with rapture, Daisuke sighed inwardly.

_It's a guy singing_, he thought coolly, staring at the underwhelming man preparing to commence. _I don't care how good you are - you're not going to be any sort of revolutionary. It's just you and the rest of the world, trying to make a living out of something you love - I respect that, but it doesn't mean you're anything special._

Pessimism firmly in place, Daisuke was astonished to acknowledge that he was soon cursing his own ignorance; his drink slipping from his hand and mildly colouring the pale wood of the table, he was quickly drawn into a world of simultaneous hope, despair and joy as the man's haunting vocals converted the very air to electricity. The Special Unit operative hung on every stressed beat, every miniscule switch in tempo and chord, until he was well and truly hooked and found himself thinking that perhaps life wasn't so bad after all…

Despite strumming through for a good five minutes of audible delight, Daisuke found that the song ended far too quickly, and he snapped out of his reverie abruptly to find Clair laughing almost hysterically at him.

"Can't say I didn't warn you," he commented lightly, grinning. "I take it you'll be wanting another drink?"

Following the direction of his jabbed thumb, Daisuke looked down and discovered, much to his chagrin and shock, that he was practically laying in the contents of all three of his gin shots.

"Oh, shut the hell up," he snapped, a hint of rouge colouring his cheeks as Clair guffawed and approached the bar, probably eager to inform the entire club of his public indiscretion.

Privately thinking that he desperately needed a mp3 of that on his hard drive, he made a mental note to return at a later date - preferably when Clair Leonelli wasn't stalking him - and enquire as to whether the place ran off copies of the tune that had considerably lightened his mood.


End file.
